


Circles

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Sibling Incest, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elladan dances with his partner.





	Circles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissManiac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissManiac/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for MissManiac’s “29. Royalty with Elladan and Elrohir attending official functions and doing Elven princes stuff and being very much in love with each other. Bonus brownie points if Arwen is around to tease them and Elrond is just fondly exasperated (with consensual homosexual incest not being frowned upon in Elven society because of their long lives and finding your destined/ideal partner and what's the harm after all) at his twins whenever he finds them snogging in a corner. ^^ Thranduil could be around to ogle them (they're very pretty after all) and tease Elrond, too (depending on how long you want this to be).” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/161379570810/au-prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Elladan takes the first excuse to leave his seat—when the music sets into a livelier tune, he knows that’s his cue. The other guests are already milling to the dance floor, Elrohir half lost amongst them. Except that Elladan could find him anywhere. Elladan can close his eyes and go by his heart alone, though when he concentrates, he can hear the familiar pattern of Elrohir’s breath, smell the faint lilac of Elrohir’s scent, even feel his sweet warmth across the distance. When Elladan gets close enough to see, Elrohir is a vision: the same beautiful creature that Elrohir helped dress this morning. He chased away the servants, instead opting to fasten Elrohir’s trousers and straighten Elrohir’s jacket himself. He clasped together Elrohir’s belt, braided back Elrohir’s dark satin hair, and fit the silver crown upon his head. Elrohir returned the favour. They kissed as they always do in the mornings and touched one another past what they should. And then they emerged together and bore Arwen’s teasing for their disheveled clothes.

But Elrohir is lovely now—he’s tucked himself into place, and the few stray wisps that have escaped his braid look charming around his handsome face. He stands by the table of stacked wine, a glass in hand, and smiles to his grey eyes when Elladan comes before him. Dipping into a graceful bow befitting of their station, Elladan asks, “Might I have this dance, my prince?”

Elrohir laughs, chiming like the silver bells above the door, and sets down his glass just in time. Then Elladan is sweeping him up without waiting for an answer—Elladan always knows the answer before he gives the question. He knows Elrohir as well as he knows himself, if not better. He slips an arm around Elrohir’s trim waist and another into Elrohir’s palm, and he tugs Elrohir out into the busy crowd.

They’re swiftly swept up in the motion, but they fall into step with ease. They received dancing lessons when they were old enough to walk, and the styles have changed little in the passing centuries. Elladan’s feelings have changed as little with it. He loves the feeling of Elrohir in his arms as much as he did on their first dance, when they were blushing youths barely past their majority, already knowing their destiny, and merely waiting for enough time to pass for their decision to be allowed. 

Elrohir still tells him over the roar of music and prancing feet, “This is highly inappropriate.”

“There is nothing inappropriate for royalty,” Elladan counters, though his family, save for the two of them, have always been the picture of propriety. Their father was never so brash, and their sister hides it better.

Elrohir nods towards that family, seated at the head table beyond the dance floor, and insists, “Not on the princess’ day. We promised we would behave for her ball.” Though they both knew at the time they would break it—they don’t know _how_ to behave.

Elladan still spins them around, maneuvering so that he can look over Elrohir’s slender shoulder to the table, where Arwen is indeed pointing at them. She says something to their father, nudging him, but he only shakes his head in quiet exasperation and buries himself in a drink, likely water. He’ll need a sober head to chase them off afterwards, when they inevitably try to make love in the empty hall once all the guests have left and the servants are fretting about. Next to him sits Lord Thranduil, visiting just for this occasion, and he has quite a different reaction. He openly ogles them with an intense, heated gaze he’s never turned towards their father. Despites his age, he’s handsome enough to pull it off. Flattered, Elladan flashes Thranduil a daring grin, and Thranduil lifts an intrigued eyebrow. But then Elladan spins his twin around again, bringing his attention back to their dance. 

While they move as one, Elladan leans in to whisper across Elrohir’s ear, “I could do far worse than hold you.” He wants to do more. _Burns_ to; pulling Elrohir’s toned body tight against his own always stirs his interest. He can feel Elrohir’s breath ghost along his cheek and knows his victory is coming. 

Elrohir pulls back, lips parted, to deliver his verdict on Elladan’s unspoken plea to sneak away together, but he’s interrupted. A throat is cleared beside them, and they stop accordingly. Lord Thranduil’s son stands before them, and he asks, “Might I have a dance?” 

Equally as attractive as his father, Legolas wears his golden hair drawn in a high ponytail, his emerald clothes fit for a king. He would be enough to tempt any partner away, except, of course, for ones so deeply bound as Elladan and Elrohir. 

Amused, Elladan plays the game nonetheless, and he inquires, “Which of us do you mean?”

“Whichever will dance with me,” Legolas answers smoothly, his pleasant gaze divided equally amongst them. 

But Elrohir laughs, “That only means that you cannot tell us apart.”

Rather than deny it, Legolas insists, “It is a compliment, for you are each the most gorgeous creatures in all your lands.”

Elladan snorts, “Charming.” Legolas smiles good-naturedly. Elrohir looks ready to humour him, but Elladan sighs instead, “I am afraid we are both unavailable though, for I am too loyal and Elrohir has other plans.”

“Do I?” Elrohir muses, lifting a brow but not denying it. Legolas lifts his hands in defeat, but Elladan hardly notices Legolas’ retreat, as Elrohir has turned full attention to him. Nodding, Elladan gently guides Elrohir away from the dance floor, drawing him instead into the far corner beyond the columns, where he might pull Elrohir into the shadows for a proper kiss.


End file.
